Secret Passages in a Hillside Town

by Pasi Ilmari Jaaskelainen

  Olli presses his lips against hers.

  As they kiss, the M-particles in the house wrap around them, seep into their skin and flow through their veins.

  Kisses are an important part of a cinematic way of life.

  A kiss can be playful, light, rough, violent, stolen, gentle, cold, sensual, deceitful, treacherous, cavalier, forbidden, sinful, loving or lustful—and combinations of these can also be very interesting—but a kiss is always a kiss. The touching of lips is a basic unit of erotic contact. Like a cigarette, a kiss can be used to express thoughts and feelings too complex, or too straightforward, to put into words.

  The most interesting cinematic kisses are always alive, and can contain the contextual contrasts of detachment and desire, faith and betrayal, love and hate, approach and separation. What could be more cinematic in feeling than a goodbye kiss, combining sensual joy and pleasure with the pain of renunciation?

  (Kissing stills on following page: Robert Taylor and Vivien Leigh in Waterloo Bridge. Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon. Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland in They Died with Their Boots On. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman in For Whom the Bell Tolls. Nino Castelnuovo and Catherine Deneuve in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. Gregory Peck and Jennifer Jones in Duel in the Sun. John Garfield and Lana Turner in The Postman Always Rings Twice. Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain.)

  GRETA KARA,

  A Guide to the Cinematic Life

  When they finish their kiss, Greta wipes the tears away, first from Olli’s face, then from her own, and smiles, and whispers, “Well, that certainly won’t kill me, now will it? And darling, I’m so glad that I still turn you on. And you do me, too. Now lie on top of me, Olli. Make love to me.”

  Olli hesitates.

  “I can’t.”

  Greta scowls and slaps his face.

  He yelps, rubs his cheek and looks at her in amazement.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but don’t be an idiot. I don’t have time for it,” Greta pants, taking him in her limp arms. “It won’t hurt me. Can’t you see I’m still alive? I love you now more than I will when I’m dead. Take me now, so I can feel it… And hold me, hold me so tight that I scream… You see, there’s one thought that comforts me: that when I’m dead and cold and they come to take my body away, it will have your smell on it, and the traces of your love.”

  52

  AFTER THEY MAKE LOVE they are overcome with a weariness as big as the universe. Greta is falling asleep. Olli’s still awake.

  At some point Greta lets go of his neck, turns and sighs. She is pale but calm. Her breath is fairly steady now, though shallow and quick. The marks of Olli’s teeth are distinct on her pale skin, just as she wanted. Olli, too, has deep, bloody scratches on his back and sides. I hope that at my funeral the marks of my fingernails will remind you of one thing: the most important part of our love story won’t be that I died, but that I lived, through you, and for you…

  Greta smiles in her sleep. Olli smiles at the sleeping woman. For a little while everything is all right.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he puts on his slippers and goes downstairs. He uses the toilet, drinks a glass of mineral water, eats a pear, sits down at the dining-room table and turns on the computer. He can spend a few minutes on Facebook while Greta gets some rest.

  Aino’s profile has a new travel photo. Aino and the boy look straight into the camera, sunburnt and exhausted. Their eyes ask: Why can’t we come home?

  The M-particles ease Olli’s guilt. They show him in a filmic light. Enthralled to the mission he’s been given by the kidnappers, Olli Suominen may be a selfish cinematic character, in some sense even a traitor, but it’s all for the sake of a larger-than-life love, and there’s nothing a cinematic person can do about a sequence of dramatic events once it’s set in motion. All’s fair in love and war.

  Then he notices that he has a new Facebook alert:

  Karri has confirmed you as a friend on Facebook.

  A chill goes through him. His hands feel numb and he sits there for a moment. He goes to light a cigarette, takes a drag and goes back to the computer to look at Karri Kultanen’s profile.

  The profile photo is a sculpture of a naked youth. Olli remembers seeing it in person when he was at the Louvre. It’s called Sleeping Hermaphroditus. It was sculpted by Bernini sometime in the 1600s, on a commission from a cardinal. The sculpted figure had a woman’s breasts and a penis. When Olli noticed this at the Louvre it gave him a start, which made the French publishers and the Swedish literary agent he was with burst into laughter.

  Olli looks at Karri’s information, which doesn’t mention his birthday, gender or hometown. All that’s there is his favourite quote, which Olli recognizes. It’s from Ovid’s Metamorphoses:

  The restless boy still obstinately strove

  To free himself, and still refused her love.

  Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs intwined,

  “And why, coy youth,” she cries, “why thus unkind!

  Oh may the Gods thus keep us ever joined!

  Oh may we never, never part again!”

  So prayed the nymph, nor did she pray in vain:

  For now she finds him, as his limbs she pressed,

  Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast;

  Till, piercing each the other’s flesh, they run

  Together, and incorporate in one:

  Last in one face are both their faces joined,

  As when the stock and grafted twig combined

  Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind:

  Both bodies in a single body mix,

  A single body with a double sex.

  Karri’s profile has a few status updates, though not many comments. But then he only has five Facebook friends: Olli, Aino and the Blomrooses. The most recent post is from a week ago, written at night:

  Karri Kultanen just woke up and is trying not to wake the man beside him and his little nymph.

  Underneath it says:

  Anne Blomroos likes this.

  The next most recent post is from more than a year earlier, in the spring:

  Karri Kultanen took two jacks out of the game, but spared the blonde Queen of Spades.

  Under that one it says:

  Anne Blomroos and 2 others like this.

  The two others are Riku and Leo Blomroos.

  There’s also a comment from Anne:

  I don’t think my dear brothers would mind my bringing them along on this little cinematic project of ours (which I think of as a romantic comedy, although it does perhaps have hints of black). It’ll make them look a little less small-minded than they really were, in at least one person’s eyes.

  Olli’s cigarette has fallen on the table. He picks it up, brushes the ashes onto the floor and takes a long drag, trying to comprehend it all.

  Now a little chat window with a tiny image of the sleeping Hermaphroditus and Karri Kultanen’s name opens up at the bottom of the screen; Olli is so frightened that he shouts a curse.

  Of course, he’s aware that it’s possible to chat through Facebook. He’s just never had any reason to try it. Email is modern enough for him.

  The message in the box says: Hello, friend.

  Olli feels like screaming. And turning off the computer. But instead he writes: Karri?

  Answer: Yes. We should talk.

  Olli shakes his head. No, no, no, he really doesn’t want to talk; he doesn’t want to know anything about Karri. With trembling fingers, however, he writes: Where are you?

  Then, answering his own question, he mutters aloud, “Where do you think, Sherlock?”

  He shivers. His ears ring. He feels like he’s going to vomit. A moment passes. Olli imagines his correspondent putting his thoughts in order.

  Finally, text appears on the screen:

  Olli my friend, I’m so sorry, but it’s nearly time for the closing scene.

  53

  WHEN OL
LI WALKS into the bedroom, Greta is slumped on the edge of the bed. Her arms hang at her sides and her whole body is trembling. The laptop on the night table is open and the screen illuminates her pale face. “I guess I turned on the computer in my sleep,” she says quietly. “I must have wanted to look at Facebook. But I can’t. I feel numb. My feet are frozen.”

  There’s no green in her eyes now, just the dark of October.

  Olli helps her to lie down on the bed and puts the covers over her. Her breath is laboured and her pulse erratic.

  “I can rub your feet to warm them,” Olli says, and looks out the window. “But first let’s put the computer away…”

  The approaching winter grips the house tight. According to the weather reports the first snow could come at any time.

  Greta takes hold of Olli’s hand and whispers, “No, leave it on. I need Facebook… Please don’t think me silly, darling, but I want to leave a goodbye message for all the people I know around the world, when I feel the end is at hand… I still have to think of what to write. Would you help me with that, Olli?”

  Olli strokes her golden hair and nods, because he can’t speak. It feels as if his chest is trying to tear itself open. But for Greta’s sake he’ll hold himself together until the end. For Greta, and for his family, of course.

  “All right,” he finally whispers. “But that’s not something that has to be done tonight. Not at all. There’ll be time tomorrow. Let’s wait until morning, together.”

  Death is justly considered the high point of a cinematic life. It is a strong ending for any story that has been lived truly, and also serves as a dramatic element, if not the critical turning point, in the lives of those who know the dying person.

  Depending on the context and point of view, death can be emotional and melodramatic, coolly laconic and expressionless, courageous, happy, symbolic, senseless, terrifying, sickening, ironic, tragic, even comic, but whatever the tone, it gives ultimate meaning to everything that has come before it. If at all possible, a cinematic person should pay particular attention to his or her death, in order to make it elegant and cinematically meaning ful.

  (See following page, death scenes: Max Schreck in Nosferatu; Lew Ayres in All Quiet on the Western Front; Helen Hayes in A Farewell to Arms; James Cagney in Angels with Dirty Faces; Gregory Peck and Jennifer Jones in Duel in the Sun; Ali MacGraw and Ryan O’Neal in Love Story.)

  GRETA KARA,

  A Guide to the Cinematic Life

  The windows brighten. They lie under the covers, holding each other. The house is heavy with silence. The doctor, whom Olli summoned at six o’clock, is making no sound downstairs. He’s probably reading the book he brought with him, some kind of play.

  Olli’s hand is on Greta’s left breast. His index finger is laid across her nipple, his thumb gently pressing the side of her breast. He feels a scar stretching under his hand and thinks that it’s there because of him. The thought floods him with an overwhelming tenderness.

  His face is pressed against Greta’s neck. He breathes through her golden hair and seems to smell the scent of a warm hillside. It fills the room and carries him back to a meadow where they had a picnic a few days after they lay together in Wivi Lönn’s house for the first time. Autumn was postponed for a day and summer blazed up one last time before the coming winter.

  They sat in the tall grass to eat, and ended up having sex. It was more ritual than unbridled passion. Without a word, Greta put her half-eaten tomato sandwich back in the basket, unzipped Olli’s trousers, took her panties off under her dress and sat on his lap.

  As they merged, the M-particles sang to them from deep in the earth, and for one moment Olli sensed all the secret passages in Jyväskylä, their locations, their routes, as if he were viewing a map drawn on his soul.

  Naturally, their meadow is mentioned in the Magical City Guide. Olli wonders if a lot of people will go there now that the book is available and the first printing is virtually sold out. Maiju at the office has told him that next summer the Jyväskylä tourist office is planning to sell guided tours to all the magical places where his love for Greta Kara was reborn. The thought of it makes Olli sad, although it is good news for the business.

  He lies at the edge of sleep and imagines them first at the meadow and then in Tourula, in the house on the bank of the river. He is startled when Greta makes a sound.

  His left knee has been tucked between her thighs for a long time. His leg is starting to go to sleep, but he can’t bring himself to move it because he doesn’t want to disturb her.

  Greta turns, points at the computer and breathes a request. Olli picks it up, puts it in her lap and helps her hands to the keyboard. She writes her last status update, closes the computer, and looks up at Olli.

  Before she falls into another sleep, he thinks he sees the sun reflected in the green of her eyes. He turns to the window and is surprised to see that the sky is an impenetrable grey.

  He puts away the computer, gets dressed and sits in the chair next to the bed, watching the life fade from the golden-haired woman. He holds her hand and looks at her red-painted fingernails. Her fingers grow cold; her face turns waxen; her breath slows and stumbles. Olli isn’t sure if he knows how to feel for a pulse, but it feels weak and irregular and sometimes disappears altogether.

  Hours pass.

  Olli sits, waits and makes observations. They fall like drops somewhere inside him, waiting to be pondered later.

  Greta has been silent and still for a long time. Olli bends closer. Then her lips part and smile weakly.

  She whispers, “Olli, ask me now…”

  Her voice is like the rustle of dead leaves. It takes a moment for him to understand what she means, and another moment to collect himself.

  Finally, he asks her the question. But Greta is already gone.

  The End

  54

  AFTER PRONOUNCING GRETA KARA DEAD, Dr Oksanen sighs and pulls the blanket up over the face of the deceased. The blanket is covered in white satin, and the effect is impeccably cinematic.

  Olli feels cold. He and the doctor stand next to the bed in their suits, stiff and serious, their arms at their sides, both wearing ties. Greta lies naked under the blanket, the marks of Olli’s teeth still on her skin.

  “My condolences,” the doctor says. “It’s obvious how much the two of you meant to each other. I sense a great love. I hope that you were able to say goodbye to each other and nothing was left unresolved between you. As a physician, I see all sorts of things. Many kinds of deaths. Sad ends. Bitterness. Inability to put away pride and ask for forgiveness even when faced with eternal separation. This is so very sad, but I hope I don’t offend you if I venture to say, Mr Suominen, that your love story had a very beautiful ending.”

  Olli nods. He’s numb, and the situation is unreal, right down to the drama-reading Dr Oksanen’s brief speech.

  They go downstairs and shake hands. The doctor prepares to leave. He promises to take care of the requisite notifications relevant to Greta’s death, which he says “falls to him in his role as physician”. He also says that someone will come soon for Greta’s body, and the owner of the house will come to take care of everything connected with terminating the rental contract. Olli needn’t worry about anything. He can “walk out of this house of sorrow and close the door behind him and focus on grieving”.

  They look at each other. The doctor seems to remember something. “Ah, yes. I nearly forgot something in the bedroom…”

  He goes upstairs and remains there for several minutes. Returning with his bag, he avoids eye contact, bows quickly and leaves.

  After the doctor left, Olli packed up the things he’d brought with him to the house. There wasn’t much. He put the suitcase by the front door. Then he sat down at the dining-room table, poured himself a cup of thick, bitter coffee, turned on the computer and opened Facebook.

  Greta’s last status update said:

  Greta Kara is completely happy.

  Olli stared
at the text for a long time.

  Finally, he closed the computer. He knew that he was supposed to leave so that everything could progress as it was meant to. His part of the story was over. His life would continue elsewhere, more or less attached to the slow continuum. He had many things to take care of.

  But he wanted to see what happened after the credits rolled, so he stayed to watch.

  Roll Credits

  55

  SOME TIME PASSED, and then Olli heard sounds from the bedroom. First the squeak of the bed. Then coughing.

  He didn’t go to look, just poured himself some more bad coffee. He could imagine what was happening upstairs. Karri had briefly described what would happen by chat, saying that he didn’t want to give Olli a scare or mislead him unnecessarily. But certain things had to happen in a preordained manner.

  In spite of his curiosity, Olli didn’t think it wise to go and look as the body of the one he had loved more than he had ever loved anyone opened its eyes and emerged from under the covers as a different person.

  The medicine he had given to Greta was a substance that slowed the vital functions, and the doctor had gone upstairs just before he left to give the faux deceased an antidote.

  Someone opened the front door with a key. Olli heard people talking. A white coffin was carried in. Two men set it down in the middle of the floor, glanced at Olli and walked out again.

  A bustling, well-groomed woman came in after them. Olli guessed that she was a beautician. She had a garment bag over one arm and some kind of tool satchel in the other. She greeted Olli and pointed at the stairway.

  “Up there?”

  Olli nodded.